Moodboard Wonderland
by ThatSplendidJerk
Summary: Bored, routine-laden kids in a dystopian pacific society try to shake off the monotony of days in lawful and lawless ways. Different types of youngsters meet at Gekkamon's for a thrill and a laugh, until a new product in the market spins their lives off their predictable orbits. Pre NDRv3 fic. Momota-centric.
1. What's the Point of this life?

The crunching steps of dusty white snickers resounded in the small street behind the bakery. A tired sigh escaped the youngster's lips. Man, the rules... How he wished there were no rules.

As a high schooler, he had taken extreme care of not letting people know he was in financial dire straits. To work, he had to go to the opposite corner of the city every evening... because if someone from his school saw him going to work, he would be in trouble.

Schools in Japan, y'know... They didn't allow part-time was a mark of dishonor for your school to be seen going off to work in your uniform. Social ostracism, just for making ends meet...

And he had to save. For several reasons, but for one in specific.

In two weeks time, his grandparents would come round to visit. And he couldn't let them go on dried soba. He would treat them on his own pocket, it was a matter of honor for him.

"Perseus... Draco... Cassiopeia" he mumbled, looking over his head, as he climbed the stairs and felt his pockets for the house key.

The house was less of a rabbit hutch than most, because it was a former warehouse's second floor. Used to store millet in one time, the owner place had the feeling of a loft for a high schooler like him: a bit too big, since it was all for himself. It was now a rustic department with a nice couch in it, a bed, low table and a few shelves.

The other half of the building was shabbier and looked like it wouldn't be revamped anytime soon, but it also had running water and other commodities. The owner of the bakery below was planning to fit it for rent as well.

He had considered just applying to rent the other side of the building, but he couldn't make himself heard. His grandfather pulled up a negociation on his behalf that allowed him to get the best half at an affordable rate.

He puffed his chest proudly. Perks of having a grandad like his.

...

Only to heave a worried sigh.

Great man, his grandpa. If only he could be less of a worry for his grandparents...

"Man. this world sucks. Wish I could send me'self anywhere else"

He produced the key from his pocket, bracing himself for the inevitable. He even counted down as the key met the keyhole.

And sure it came.

A thin cloud of very fine dust caused him to hold his breath, but not before some of it got into his mouth and nose, forcing him to cough dryly.

"Damnit... must think how ta' keep it out when they come here"

The owner still kept some millet flour in the rafters of the bakery, stacked to the point they met his small apartment floorboards' bottom part. It then floated up like a cloud of dust while he was out at school. "It's like the bastard's waiting for the moment I open the door ta' blast up on me!"

Hastily, he closed the door, holding the neck of his gakuran uniform close to his mouth to avoid taking in more of the flour, and rushed to open all the windows. Once in the bathroom, he took a mouthful of water, washing his mouth and gargling, only to spit out a thick concoction that looked like watered-up dough.

Dripping water all over his face, still heaving small coughs, he washed his hands and gave a peek in the mirror. Sour lilac eyes stared back, berry purple hair sticking in spikes on both ends of his head, and a small, curated but rebellious goatee sticking at the angle of his lower jaw.

When was the last time he had smiled?

Did he always looked so worn-out, wary and defensive?

He smiled wryly. Such was life at Hokori Heiya. One place no one would call Paradise...

The small stove seemed to call out to him. He picked a bag of prepared soba, still lost in thought, placed the water filled pot on the stove and lit a match to begin cooking dinner.

Blowing at his fingers after he let the match burn for too long, he resumed his monotone mental cantilene.

Of how he needed to graduate soon and go independent.

He had kept going back and forth from his grandparents' home to school from the end of junior school to the start of high school, and put a brave face at the eight-hour hinterland commute.

They still got worried, since it was evident he had gone thinner and circles began to appear around his eyes from the exhaustion of the constant coming-and-going. It was hence decided he would have to move out and live closer to school.

When they announced this development, his grin was wide, but he felt his heart jump in his chest almost audibly. For how long was he going to weigh on them?

All he was doing was eating up at his folk's points, living there...

 _Kaikaku Shigai o_ r, as old ones called it, _Towa City,_ was basically a dull place, a boring, outwardly orderly and successful community attracting people from outside the country on a regular basis.

Invisible walls were built all around, which some citizens could cross and others, the less fortunate, were constantly taught to avoid and could only watch from afar.

For the latter group, life was a constant slumber, a sunny day with no warmth, a starless night with no proper rest. There were no good jobs waiting after graduation, no outlets for the younger ones to play or relax.

The only objective of life was to place yourself in a good numbering score within the Life Scale.

His mouth went bitter and his stomach knotted as he stirred the pasta bowl. The Scale. Source of all his painful nightmares...

In Kaikaku Shigai, your life was measured daily, taking account of every instance imaginable in terms of success or failure. Every thing you do, have and are is based on points - some of which were deducted due to no fault of your own.

Where you lived, were born or who your parents were had a weight, whether you liked it or not...

Some cared and prided themselves on their score.

Others... either tried to grab points in desperate ways, or turned their back on social convention, with overt despise at the system.

Hokori Heiya was a rim-of-the-city quarter, where those in the middle of the ladder found themselves at 'home' or a semblance of such.

There was some level of mild crime, shoplifting, areas laden with newcomers looking to gain points by moving closer to Kaikaku.

But all in all, it was an area where one could try and live a peaceful life, never being the nail that sticks out to be hammered, nor the bottom-of-barrel scum.

And boy, he resented it with every fiber of his being.

He was marked for greatness, not for a dusty flat or instant soba!

He hadn't been wary and defensive all his life. He had tried hard to keep his head up high, looking at the one place he couldn't reach with his hands, but desired with all his soul.

And for once, it wasn't the points. it was the fulfillment. No one could call him useless or back-alley scum, if he was one of the Chosen.

And there was another reason, he mused, chewing on his soba dish. One he never told anyone, but that had started it all.

He shook that momentary weakness. The heck, was he going to stoop at the level of the man he most despised?

"C'mon, I'm no weakling nor a fool... I even aced the Kosen exam! They can't reject me on a technicality, they even tol' me my marks were 'remarkable' and outta the average!"

A year prior, he had submitted papers to a nationwide call for those aiming to take the astronaut academy exam. His age had been the disqualifying factor and would surely be again.

Nonetheless, he had compiled the paperwork, and was halfway through sending the second attempt, while moonlighting in his job in the main city University's library. Struggling with his conscience, no less.

He knew he would have to do something extreme to be accepted. After all, he was in a Kosen high school now and would be for a long while. He had no time to waste, or, he thought angrily, spitting some more doughy gruel, health probably.

As he picked his now empty soba dish, his thoughts returned to his grandparents, and once again, his anger grew exponentially.

Not at them. At _him._

"They wouldn't be usin' points in me... if that _ol' stinky coward_ had owned 'is pants in th' firs' place!"


	2. I put the Rage in Courage

Feeling the need to belong someplace, or not belong at all, just move out of the place that made him unhappy, were the two sides of his balance.

Looking back at life, it was easy to point fingers at him, at his behaviour, at his recklessness, at his nonchalance for rules.

But hey... he did have his reasons, didn't he...?

He had pieced together the puzzle by listening through doors over the years. Because the exact facts were too foggy for him to properly remember, due to his age. And every time he attempted to bring the facts to the table... it inevitably ended up with his elders shifting both their stares and the conversation away.

So he knew better than to ask.

But so far, he had a pretty clear picture.

His father was a normal salaryman, a dreamless guy with a sober, grey, lackluster job. He had no idea how he had wooed his mother, and at that point he refused to delve deeper. Romance was something for girls. Not something he needed to have knowledge about.

His mother... he didn't know how to feel about her.

This was the part that hurt him the most, and made him feel worse about himself. Something had gone wrong when she gave birth to him, to the point that she was almost an invalid.

He had heard once "it wasn't her fault... the child was just too big" and that was the start of a lifelong battle against his self esteem and conflicted emotions towards himself.

Yet his mother never found a fault with him, and she tried hard to be a part of his early years. Despite spending most of her day sitting down, she was never complaining. Despite illness etching on every line of her face, she was always.. always... always smiling... and putting her own son first and foremost.

His questions were met with meek answers.

I am not hungry, maybe later.

I am not sick. Just tired, is all.

When I get better, we will go down to the park and play.

However, it seemed... the more he grew into a tall, handsome, healthy little boy, the more she withered away. Yet she was always smiling kindly at him. As if she knew that. As if she was making this willing sacrifice to see her son thrive.

He had never seen her without a doctor by her side. Other kids took carefully wrapped bento to school, which looked like their mothers had spent the night creating. His... the bento was plentiful, but he knew its contents were purchased by his father. He was made fun of because of this fact, but a couple well placed fistslaps shut the few mouths that ran at it.

The first sign of desperate violence at his peers stemmed from mocking his lunch. He started to resort to it instead of finding the words to reply, because boy, was he bad with them...

He found a rare solace when the weather was clear -especially in the early chills of winter- and the night was cloudless. His mother enjoyed watching the stars from the window, and beckoned him by her side. The universe is immense, she said. All your pains and worries just... vanish in front of it.

"D'you think one day I can travel up there and getcha a star?"

She smiled with that gesture that seemed already out of this world. My boy, I am afraid that's not possible.

"You told me I can do anything, as long as I want it enough!"

I did say that indeed, but...

"Then it's possible!"

My child... the stars you see up there are all long dead.

A pause. Pouty lips and furrowed brows showed his puzzlement.

"They can't be dead if they're shinin'!"

Oh yes, they can. Just like humans. When a human leaves, they continue shining in the people they were close to. That is why... watching the stars is something I like so much.

He didn't catch it at the time. But her eyes looked up in a longing way.

Did his mom... dream of going to space?

That was an exciting dream to have!

Those moments were quiet and cozy, but as the little boy was full of energy and playfullness, they were rapidly followed by him running around the house, somersaulting, until he collapsed, exhausted, on the living room carpet.

If someone asked if he loved his mom, he could say yes without hesitation.

Yet, he hated the pile of lies, all those lies about her health...

Why do you have to lie to me...

Why don't you tell me you are not fine...

Why are you being... a coward...

Why don't you trust me...

And in his first year of school... the answer to all of these came storming down.

When he came back from school, looking forward to his supper, he opened the door and filled his lungs, preparing to yell a cheery "I AM HOME!"

But he soon lost his breath, as he found his father kneeling beside his mother's sofa.

He was pleading to his mother. Darling, keep breathing. Stay with me. Stay with me, don't go, don't leave me, what am I going to do without y-

She smiled, -and the smile was ethereal, transparent, angelic- raising her finger feebly.

He turned. Their son had been taught time and again not to jump on her or run towards her, so he was frozen, his schoolbag slid to the floor like a crumpled little rag. He stood there, looking at his parents, speechless.

His mother was keeping her smile with all her strength, but there were tears brimming in the corners of her eyes and a mist of contained pain in her clear pupils.

No, it wasn't cowardice or weakness that kept her from complaining. Now he knew. His mom was the strongest person in the world. Who knows how much pain she was in, when she put all her will in grinning at him?

His father... that was the complete opposite.

He saw his father, a complete mess of a man, paralyzed by grief, owned by pain, incapable even to have a word of comfort to his own son... and he felt his stomach upturn.

 _That's a coward for you,_ he thought bitterly. _You can't comfort Mom, and you won't even approach me._

He suddenly felt he wouldn't take another lie.

Not any more lies.

 _I'll call the doctor, I know the number,_ he said, in a disembodied voice, feeling every inch the man he wasn't yet, and that his father would never be.

The doctor was called. Several diagnosis called out. She asked to just be laid to rest in her bed, while his distraught husband mounted guard on one side of her bed.

A littany of words passed from husband to wife. Phrases was whispered audibly enough to be heard on the other side of the tatami door.

 _What pains me the most is how much I will miss of his life._

 _I will not get to see him grow healthier and stronger._

 _I will not see him graduate and fulfill his dreams._

 _I will not take his arm and march him through the aisle._

 _I will not see his children call me gran._

 _But you will. Promise me... you will be strong... for him and for me._

His father didn't respond, but the sniffling on the other side of the door spoke volumes for his silence.

The realization it was him she was talking about took him aback so much, he let himself slide down to the floor. Fighting his tears, he held his head with his hands, elbows touching his knees.

His young mind vowed several things in a row.

 _If I get sick... I won't tell anyone!_

 _If I feel like something is bothering me, I'd rather die than tell!_

 _I have to be strong! No excuses!_

 _If there is no hero, I will be the hero of my own story..!_

 _Even if I have... to lie... like she did..._

 _It's not like I'll hurt anyone by doing that!_

 _And over all..._

 _I will never, ever, be a burden to anyone...!_

He hastily, angrily, wiped his eyes and bowed his head to stop the tears from coming out.

It should have been a vivid memory, when his father, voice cut off and feeble, asked him to come to his mother's bedside. But, in the years that followed, everything was foggy and hazy in his mind. He just retained the look in her vivid eyes, -the only part of her that still seemed alive- shining with love at his sight.

And her parting comment remained beating in his ears, as if, instead of a whisper, it had been a bellow:

 _"Remember, my child... I'll always be watching out for you... from the sky above"_

His mind shut. He didn't remember anything after that.

Next he remembered, he was standing at the door, all the way across from his mother's lifeless body, vague disgust in his features as he heard his father dissolve in sobs beside her deathbed. Relatives were pouring in from everywhere. He never remembered seeing that many. Not one of them gave him a second look, they even pushed him aside without any ceremony.

Until two middle-aged couples appeared in the usher at almost the same time.

He knew all four of them.

His grandparents...

And his world, his little shattered universe, spinning around its fragments, suddenly skidded to a halt.


	3. Children say, come what may

Steps away from him, both couples stopped. After a moment of hesitation, -and a silent nod from his father's parents- his mother's parents came forward.

At that moment, his little soul was so conflicted, so far away from anyone, that it only took a slight push to send him off balance. He felt more adult than his years, unique in an astral plane that belonged to no one and in which he was the gatekeeper. No one would get through it and trespass over to his plane if he didn't allow it.

In a rare moment of maturity for someone that young, he dimly understood that, in light of his father's weakness, what happened now would shape his interactions with his elders from now on.

If he had been old enough, he would have said this was a poker game and he was both prize and croupier.

So he waited for his mother's side to present their cards.

"Don't be sad, little one"

That was a bad start. A very bad one. He had seen very little of his mother's parents, since that side of the family was numerous, and he wasn't by any means the first, the youngest, the only grandchild or the closest to his grandparents' home.

They very rarely spent time with him, in fact, they seemed to come only to lament his mother's poor health, and to look sideways at him.

"Little one" said by his mother was a term of endearment. By contrast, said by her parents meant... they didn't remember his name.

Still, with this adult mode born from confusion, anger and bereavement, he waited to listen.

 _"No need to be sad. She is with you right now"_

 _"No, she's not. She's lying there, on her bed..."_

 _"Oh yes she is, she is here... you just can't see her"_

Their next words did not have the effect they had hoped.

Shivers. Bad shivers started running through the boy's entire frame.

He suddenly felt drained of all energy, which was replaced by a deep, unsurmontable dread.

He could hear the adults' worried voices, but he was rooted to the spot.

 _I have to be my own hero. Heroes do not flee._

 ** _But I..._**

 ** _can't move..._**

 ** _can't b-breathe-_**

He felt like passing out, the voices growing distant, quieter...

Out of the blue, however, someone else decided to be the hero of that situation.

A big hand he knew well posed on his shoulder gently, pulling him out of the scary loop, and said, in a steady voice that carried a hint of anger, "May I know what's going on?"

He closed his eyes, distraught, terrified, and that voice finally seemed to give him the energy to move. Blindly, he tore from his grandfather's grip and stumbled back. Another pair of hands caught him before he fell down, and these were soft yet also firm.

Contrary to the other two, he also knew those hands well.

He gripped silently his grandmother's hand and she seemed to understand, moving him farther from the adults and their conversation.

His mind was reeling, as he opened his eyes and muttered he was sorry. His body ALWAYS reacted very poorly when ghosts, spirits and supernatural stuff was concerned. She replied, with a slight twinge of dislike in her voice, that he should not apologize to anyone if he was not on the wrong.

He could still hear, muffled by distance, how his paternal grandfather, his voice calm yet brimming with disgust, gave his other set of grandparents what seemed an educated yet firm dress-down.

As if reading his thoughts, his grandmother whispered that he needn't worry. Sometimes, adults need to talk to take care of things, and sometimes, like kids do, they yell. She was here for him. Nothing from the netherworld realm would do any harm to him. And in any case, his mother had passed on in peace, she was not a wandering spirit.

The petite woman had crouched to examine him, since he was still shaking violently. Slowly, and without saying a word, she held him by the shoulders and pressed her forehead to his. The blood connection they shared spoke volumes: she knew he felt terrible, but also that he didn't want to look weak.

 _"Don't fret, Gran will make the evil go away"_

Those were the first words that reached him since his mother passed.

And he believed.

His shaking subsided. He felt the numbness leave him.

His ears started to work again.

And what was the first thing he picked?

A monologue, by his grandfather.

 _Why on earth did you NEED to say that to him?_

 _You don't know your grandson, and you don't deserve him either._

 _We don't have the authority to coerce his decision, should he choose to visit you, but I would not be too sure he will ever want to get close to the likes of you._

 _Do you even know what food he likes, what are his dreams, his personality, his ambitions? No?_

 _Well, did it ever occur to you to ask your daughter how did she feel when you started spreading those awful stories?_

 _I think not?_

 _Unlike you, we had seen enough of him over the years to tell how he is. And he is a sensible, intelligent kid, intelligent enough not to pay heed to any of the ridiculous talk you have started around him._

 _You have faulted him for something that was never his fault. You are crushing his personality in the bud._

 _I know I may have failed with my son, but I'm not going to let my grandson follow the same path. And if you try to interfere, you are in my way._

There was an aura floating around him that was no-nonsense.

Was that how a hero looked like?

More importantly. Was that... his grandfather?

The mild, composed man who always bought him toys and loved to make him fly around himself?

He looked so different from his father, the person he despised so much he couldn't even feel sorry for his own grief.

So different from his guilt-tripped maternal grandparents, trying to make amends when it was already too late, and failing abysmally to redeem their own mistakes.

So different... even from himself.

He had even gathered resolve to run away. His father wouldn't have the strength to follow him. Granted, he was in half of a mind to do it even now.

Even now... when his mother's parents were positively cowering as if they were in front of a mortal danger, just by being scolded.

"You can leave matters in our hands. I bet you are happy to be relieved of what you only see as a burden. But before you do, take a good look at the splendid boy you will be missing out on..."

One pair of hands left his. Another hand extended to meet the back of his head and ruffle it.

As if that had been the cue, the other two adults bowed out and moved towards the mourning room, with a passing, guilty look at the son of their deceaced daughter.

He understood they were leaving his life forever, but they had done nothing to deserve being a part of it.

 _This is far from over..._

Breathing as if he had ran a marathon, he raised two defiant eyes up to his remaining grandparents. He was still too angry at his father to just accept they were understanding. They were that man's parents. That weak coward was their offspring...

He fisted up his hands, ready to make it physical if need be.

"Why didya ask them to look at me?"

"Because I believe in you" he said simply.

"You shouldn't" he said, harshier than he wanted to. "I am my father's son..."

"No, you are not. You are your grandfather's grandson."

He paused, looking pleasantly at the boy's furrowed brow and fiery stare.

"Character and strength often... skip a generation. You are stronger than you are given credit for..."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Then it's my fault for believing you were"

The boy opened his mouth. Then closed it.

 _I should not fall for this..._

But he was just a kid who had lost what little support he ever had.

A child, shunned, derided, unsure of his worth.

Not a full orphan, yet worse off than one...

Though his eyes ached to burst, not a tear seeped through.

All the anguish, sadness, turmoil, came out in a heartbreaking yell.

His grandparents knelt around him, coccooning him, fully understanding of this pain without tears, of this rage without outlet.

One voice made it through his shouts to the void. It was that one voice that had made all the difference for him.

 _"Yell if you must. Let it all out. No one will be judging you anymore. You will make it, where my own son failed... I believe in you..."_


End file.
